The Bullfight

 
The Trumpet sounds like a Call to War
And can eyes obscured by Vaseline see anything but hate?
Whatever dignity exists is with the killed not the killer
With those who were beaten and tortured
For just wanting to live free

Not Art, not Poetry,
Not Dance or Theatre      

And the killer’s cape is the Flag of Spain
And the crowd’s ecstatic roar drowns out all thought

Not Art, not Poetry,
Not Dance or Theatre      

The purity of the protest can heal this shame of Spain’s
Can take the Vaseline from out of the eyes of the ignorant watcher

Not Art, not Poetry,
Not Dance or Theatre

When every Bull is free
When every Truth is free
Then Spain shall be free